


The Fayre

by melanie1982



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, spike - Fandom
Genre: Cosplay, F/M, Random - Freeform, Silly, historygeek, otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 17:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7693657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Spike loves poetry and romanticism and stuff, and Buffy is.. well, Buffy. Sooo I wanted a story where Spike gets to be a bard at a Renaissance Fayre and Buffy gets dragged into it and weird fluff happens.</p><p>Non-canon.</p><p>Because Buffy and Spike need to live dysfunctionally ever after.</p><p>Tada.</p><p>Disclaimer: I've never been to a Renaissance fayre. I did minimal google research for this. Proceed at own risk. I don't own any of Joss Whedon's characters. </p><p>FICTION</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fayre-st

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy and Spike go to a Renaissance fayre.

"I STILL can't believe you're dragging me into this."

Buffy looked down at her peasant garb with a pout. Spike smiled.

"You're always saying we don't spend enough time together. Indulge me."

Her pout turned to a scowl. "Why do YOU get to look so fancy, while I'm so.. blehh. I mean, why can't I dress as a lady-in-waiting, or even a.. a.. "

Spike arched a brow. "A princess?"

If looks could kill.. "A QUEEN. 'Princess' sounds so babyish. Like playing dress up." 

He turned his attention to his outfit once more. "It's not MY fault you were assigned the position of stable-wench. I mean, you *did* cause eternal death for the fayre-holder's sister."

Buffy huffed, incredulous. "And it's not MY fault his sister tried to - oh, never-mind. I'd rather forget that particular weekend. I'm *still* finding little pieces of demon-guts in my hair."

Spike patted himself down, mussing the fabric to make it look lived-in. "How do I look?"

Buffy caught herself staring. He looked.. oddly right. She wasn't about to let him know that, though. "Like a royal bastard."

With a hearty laugh which spoke of "'At's my girl," they departed for the fayre.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike ran with an odd crowd when he wasn't with the Scoobies. Okay, make that an almost-equally-odd crowd. "Where did you meet this guy again?"

"Shh. Poetry class. And try to stay in character."

Buffy rolled her eyes, but he looked so charming, so.. alive, she found herself smiling in spite of herself.

Buffy was not a history geek - at least, not when it came to the mundane stuff you could look up in any library. Talk about jumping in at the deep end. Things started to look up when someone began serving liquid refreshments in metal cups (was it grog? Or mead? Ale, maybe? Buffy wasn't sure). Spike took her cup before she'd had a sip. "You're not old enough yet, love."

She snatched it back. "I didn't know Medieval England had a drinking age."

Spike tipped her hand, spilling the whatever-it-was. "Nice try. No dice. I want you sober for this."

The way he looked at her as he said it made a special tingle start beneath her skirts. Buffy felt suddenly flushed, and it wasn't from the fire.

There were minstrels, jugglers, and other assorted entertainment employed for the King and Queen. Buffy wished she had a comfortable seat like the members of the court, but then again, they hadn't made her *actually* clean any stables. So there was that.

Spike seemed to grow increasingly nervous as his turn approached. The man who ran the 'fayre' was, naturally, the King, and Spike apparently cared very much what the man thought of his lyrical skills.  
Or so Buffy thought.

When at last the bard was summoned to perform, Spike gave Buffy's hand a quick squeeze. She watched as he took up a rather confident stance, trying not to giggle.

He began. "Your Majesties, lords and ladies, and all those assembled here. I bring to thee a tale of a great character, a soul of indefatigable strength and grace, and one whom has made an eternal impression upon me." 

Buffy gritted her teeth; some history-lesson in rhyme, or some awful - 

"There is a maid whose solemn face, my muse,  
Hath oft awakened me from peaceful sleep.  
Her tongue can heal, but also can it bruise;  
Her laughter's joy can cause the heart to weep.  
And there's the rub - th' nearer to her draw,  
I risk my life, my self; and yet I stay.  
Her pow'r, in chains of love, keeps me in thrall -  
And so, by love, I beg - let me be slay!" 

Buffy felt the redness creeping up from her chest to her neck and face. Had he seriously just -

"By day, she is a maid of books and words  
And hath no need of me, nor can I go  
But when the crickets take up songs of birds  
Then by her side's the sweetest place I know.  
She is a maid, and yet a soldier, too;  
With skills of battle, evil she hath fought.  
I pray, ye gods, to let my heart prove true -  
For lesser rogues have perished there to nought. 

A beauty is my love, beyond compare,  
With eyes of blue and hazel like the sea  
My only sun, the gold within her hair  
In waves of love, I drown, most happily.  
For winter's bitter sting, I have the cure:  
The Summers of her presence I hold dear.  
The night shines like the morn, and hope is sure  
Beside my fierce-some maid, I face my fear." 

There was polite applause, but Buffy didn't notice. She was focused on the man - okay, vampire, but still - who had just waxed poetic about her beauty and strength and bravery and and and .. in front of all these people. THIS was what he'd been working on, been so secretive about - this wonderful, unexpected, romantic thing.

As Spike retreated to his spot beside her, she felt breathless. Get it together, B, she could hear Faith tease her. She was glad she hadn't had any libations; her tongue was threatening to get the best of her. "That was... WOW. I mean it. It was really deep. And that was a nice little touch about me slaying you."

Spike couldn't blush, but wished it. "Well, I.. My maid inspires me."

"Spike." She corrected herself. "I mean, Peregrine." Buffy wanted to keep character, but, the feeeels.. 

"Yes, Penelope?"

"Could we take in the night air? The fire burns me within.. and without."

Spi - , uh, Peregrine - took the hint.

Outside, the two of them walked in the moonlight, Buffy cooling off slightly in the breeze. "This was a wonderful idea. Thank you for bringing me."

He pulled her close without warning, kissing her.

"Did they not use tongues during the Renaissance?" It was a challenge, and he rose to it, kissing her again. When they broke for air, Buffy noticed a light several yards away.

Against all horror tropes' instruction, she wanted to approach. 

"Er, where are we going?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I just feel.. drawn this way.."

Spike grinned. "It's a fortune teller."

Buffy frowned. "Isn't that a paroxysm at a Renaissance fayre?"

He laughed softly. "I think you meant to say 'anachronism,' and, no - in truth, fortune tellers during the Renaissance were - "

They both stopped abruptly at the opening of the tent as the curtains parted with a snap.

"Ah! There you are. Please come in."

With a shrug, they followed the woman inside.


	2. (mis)Fortunes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because love.

Buffy and Spike sat down, and the woman began to inhale slowly through the nose, and exhale slowly through the mouth. Was she doing a psychic reading, or having an anxiety attack?

She opened her eyes. "What will you give me to tell your fortune? Nothing will come of nothing."

Spike caught the Shakespeare reference even as it sailed over B's head. Buffy fished in her cleavage for something, Spike watching in bemusement. "Here. I've got.. two crumpled-up dollars and a coupon for half off at the Shake Shack."

The woman gave her a look, and Buffy smiled, meekly, in apology. "Sorry. No coupons from the future. Check."

"Hold thy tongue, woman." Spike said it in jest, but Buffy's mind flashed with an image of what part of him SHE was going to hold if he took that tone again.

"Yes.. Thou hast a most unusual aura." The woman was referring to Spike. Did vampires even *have* auras? I mean, they had energy, so.. but the soul thing..?

Spike seemed intrigued. "Go on."

"There are strange shapes there. Like.. like.."

Spike leaned closer. 

"Like points."

He was a little disappointed. "Dots?"

She shook her head no. "More like.. spikes. And I can see thou art a man deeply in love." The woman smiled as Spike fidgeted in his seat.

That got Buffy's attention. "What about me?"

The girl felt exposed as the older woman studied her closely. "In thine, I see great sorrows, great loss. But also great spirit. Compassion. Courage." 

Buffy felt like saying, Yeah, yeah, heard it all before. The woman wasn't done.

"Thou hast.. oh my. Oh dear. This can't be.."

Buffy's eyes widened. "What? What is it?" Then, "For heaven's sake, what news?"

The reader sat back. "Holes in your soul. I see them; some big, some small. Needing to be filled."

Buffy had holes needing to be filled? "Look again, I.. prithee." Spike was agape at her old-timey request.

"I see it. Thou art incomplete. Thy need is to love and be loved, and yet - "

Buffy shoved away from the table, which had the effect of knocking the wind from the older woman. "Bet you didn't see THAT coming," she quipped. Spike rose to follow, mumbling apologies as he pursued his love.

"What the devil was that about?"

"What was it about? That's the third freakin' psychic who's told me I'm incomplete. I am the fucking Slayer, Spike. I can't - aarrgh!"

She moved to stand beneath the shade of a tree. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, dappling her skin, and Spike's heart, if it were possible, ached.

He approached her, hands out, as a thrown rider gentling a horse. "Easy, love. You don't have any stakes hidden under those skirts, do you?" 

She blew out a breath. Damn him, but he was adorable. "Get over here." He complied, ready to sit at her feet if she indicated such a desire. Lucky for him, she pulled him close instead.

"I'm sorry. I just.. I don't understand all this stuff."

"The Fayre?"

"The LIFE. The WORLD. And, what I'm feeling."

Spike softened. "What ARE you feeling?"

She hesitated, just feeling him there - solid and alive. Sort of. "I feel.. like I love you." Buffy looked up at him. "I love you, Spike."

Somewhere in paranormal paradise, twisted angels were singing. "I love you too, Buffy. And to think, all I had to do to get you to say it was humiliate myself with a bad poetry reading in a time-warp scenario."

Buffy smacked him good-naturedly on the chest. "Stop that."

"I'm only teasin.' What say we get out of here, back into our normal clothes, and we can go on patrol. It's still early; the night is ours."

She shook her head. "I have a better idea. Let's go somewhere and get out of our clothes. Then you can compliment my body part by part in rhymey couplings."

Spike grinned. "Rhyming couplets, dear. And.. that sounds.. absolutely.. magical." Poetry porn. Everyone has their kink.

From the door of her tent, Isabel watched as the couple kissed. The spikes from one's aura slotted into the holes of the other, and both of them lit up like the purest flame. 

"Just as I thought," she sighed dreamily. "I suppose it's better this way. This way, they can figure it out for themselves." 

And they did.


End file.
